


Might Not See Tomorrow

by salvadore



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Arthurian, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray will never know if Brad's victor wasn't hit with bullets because of Patterson's orders or because of centuries old magic that had Ray's eyes flashing gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Not See Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samescenes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samescenes/gifts).



The moment Ray knows, when all of the memories are at his fingertips, he is too busy driving to give them any notice. He doesn't have the time to complain or curse or even laugh at his newest reincarnation. He shoves back everything that is clambering to be at the forefront of his mind because there can only be his hands tight and white knuckled on the steering wheel as he breaks out of formation and makes straight for the goddamned idiots that are shooting at Brad. Because that's all he can think about. Ray's teeth are gritted when stomps hard on the gas, and sometime between remembering centuries of experiences and watching the first bullet fly toward Brad's stalking form, Ray starts screaming at the dipshits with guns.

He'll never know, later, if the reason Brad's victor wasn't hit with bullets was because of Patterson's orders or because of centuries old magic that had Ray's eyes flashing gold in the moment he gritted his teeth. Because he's sure they did, flash gold, because his magic was always irrational whenever Brad was involved. And even if he didn't do more than make sure the gaskets didn't blow or that the possible mines under his tires didn't turn him (and Walt, and Evan, and Trombley) into pieces of flying flesh, Ray knows something did happen.

And it all hits Ray later, when Brad is safely back in the passenger seat and frowning, lines marking his big Viking forehead, at the map. Ray's hands shake a little, but that could also be because of the rip-fuel. Ray doubts it, even as his mind throws out more possible denials, because his head feels so fucking heavy and he just wants to drop it on the steering wheel. Part of him, the ancient part - because Ray Person hasn't felt this way since he was eight, wants to cry.

He can remember blood and bright blue eyes – And it was almost Brad all over again.

But Ray doesn't cry. He consumes more rip-fuel and talks faster, but most of all Ray grips the steering wheel and bides his time. When the drive is relatively calm, Ray watches out of the corner of his eye for any sign that Brad remembers, listens closely to see if Brad starts talking about round tables or forests, hell Ray would welcome talk about hunting. He'd take anything because he's long since stopped “waking” up into a new reincarnation and automatically assumed that he is insane, but Brad hasn't. And, well, being the only one rolling around with centuries of information – of war strategy and history – in his head is a strain.

Then there is everything that he sees in this war. It makes his stomach clench in a familiar way, and he plays up the cursing and then makes the stories about home more ridiculous until they are only half true. But it doesn't stop his insides from going cold. He remembers Romans fleeing from his shadow and soldiers kneeling at Brad's in search of mercy.

Sometimes Ray watches Lieutenant Fick do his best to keep his men safe, watches the way Brad watches Fick and doesn't think about the men he laid flat with a look.

The deeds he has done and would do again because Brad was (is, always will be) his king.

Ray says stupid shit instead, shoves each new image of mankind's folly and wrath deep down inside of himself. He tries to bury it with all of the rest of them, and for the first time in centuries he doesn't promise himself he will look at them later. That he will learn to let them go. 

\--

It really isn't a surprise when he picks a fight with Rudy.

It feels inevitable and this body is so tightly coiled, already looking for someone to strike for wrongs that have gone unresolved. Ray swings his fists and feels bone and skin meet flesh, the impact is as hard as he can manage with mortal strength. Rudy's eye blow wide with shock and ray is screaming things at his brother but he doesn't know what the words are. He just throws them and his fists at Rudy until it is reversed. The force of Rudy's fist on Ray's body spurs him on, and he tries to tackle Rudy, misdirected rage pumping so much adrenaline through Ray's veins. He isn't seeing straight when one of his brothers tosses him away from Rudy. His eyes are filled with centuries and they are blinding him, pushing so hard at him that Ray feels as though his eyes are going to explode.

And of course Brad is right there, holding his weapon like every time before. At arms, always at arms, but his eyes aren't filled with years gone by. He recognizes Corporal Person, Brad recognizes his RTO, but he doesn't see Ray and there is a bitter taste in Ray's throat. Ray wipes furiously at his cheeks, growling at himself. And Brad follows, statuesque and back straight, at arms and with a confused frown. Ray could tear the earth beneath their feet asunder but he doesn't think he could tear that confusion from Brad's visage. It's not the first time one of them has had to wait for the other to return, but they've never been this close before with so many years between them.

Not for the first time, but for what might be the last time, Ray thinks bitterly about how much he longs to be done with war. He would follow Brad into hell, but there isn't enough strength left in him to take up this gauntlet once more.

Ray says none of this to Brad. Instead he makes amends, pulling a smile and passing Brad a Styrofoam cup that is filled with the dirt-water the Corps is passing off as coffee. Ray bares his dimples and the sliver of teeth.

It's all in Ray's imagination when he thinks that Brad's cursory look is searching and somehow older. He commits himself to this truth as he signs the papers that will release him from duty and looks for tickets back to Missouri. When his hands are on the arm rests and he is leaving California far behind there is a stabbing sensation in his stomach reminding him over and over that Brad doesn't know he has left.

\--

“You little shit,” Brad growls when Ray sleepily opens the door to his apartment to find Brad towering outside. Ray knew it was Brad, had known before he had even checked the peep-hole out of habit, but he feigns surprise. He murmurs, 'hey Iceman' with a sneer that has often doubled as a smirk and then takes up as much of the doorway as he possibly can with his wire thin body.

“You lying shit,” Brad says in a harsh whisper as he stalks in close. He towers over Ray, one hand planting hard against the wooden frame above Ray's head. The other combs falsely gentle through the little bit of growth on the top of Ray's scalp before his fingers twist in it and tug with more force than anyone would use if they were teasing. Ray opens his mouth to complain, but Brad's lips are in the way.

Nails scratch across Ray's scalp and Brad uses more force than necessary to push his way past Ray's lips, but it is familiar. Ray moans into the heat of Brad's mouth and shivers before arching up as his lower lip is bitten and pulled between Brad's teeth. And this, this is as familiar as following Brad to war.

“You better fucking wait for me next time,” Brad growls, with an undertone of fondness and his fingers anchored on Ray's hips.


End file.
